"That is for me to know, Don Roberto."
"Very well," said Roberto indifferently, as if the humor of the situation had mended the affront given him by his valet. "Go on, then, and take the shoe to its owner. We will accompany you, we will go by your side, to see the pretty foot that it fits."
"No, Don Roberto. Let the poor fellow have his hour of romance, if he can. I am not one with you to pry into it, or into the lady's confusion, let her be whom she may."
Fernando turned away with these words, going toward the house. Henderson felt his heart warm to the young fellow.
"Yankee thief! You'll feel the bite of rawhide for this," Roberto threatened. "Come, take me to the owner of this shoe."
Henderson stood in the bright moonlight confronting this petulant tyrant who believed himself master not only of the present situation, but the future as well. The little shoe was soft in Henderson's hand; he held its pliant thin sole bent in his palm, hiding it from Roberto's curiously hungry eyes. It was a moment for swift consideration, quick arrival upon a course that would save the shoe's owner from the blight of scandal. Don Fernando was walking away rapidly; he passed out of sight among the low-hanging branches of the pepper trees.
"Very well," Henderson yielded, after what seemed a struggle against himself.
"Half of your lashes will be remitted for this, my fine Gabriel," Roberto generously declared. "But for snatching the shoe out of my hand, may rats eat my heart if I do not find your ribs with my whip tomorrow!"
"This way, then," said Henderson, leading off in the direction of the laborers' huts below the brow of the hill.
Where there had been merely contempt for Roberto's pampered pride, his oppression and disdain, there leaped hot in Henderson's breast this moment a desire to bring him low. As quick as the flash of his vengeful desire, Henderson's lively mind contrived a way.